


This Feels Right

by Kangofu_CB



Series: Fingertips Against My Skin [2]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Deaf Clint Barton, Domestic Avengers, Forming a team, Found Family, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Soulmates, Steve Rogers is a stubborn ass, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, creepy panopticon JARVIS, protective ASSHOLE Clint, romantic sex, struggling to fit in, super romantic soulmate sex guys, two recently adopted junkyard dogs gradually adjusting to their new home
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:41:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22688662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kangofu_CB/pseuds/Kangofu_CB
Summary: “Show-off,” James muttered, turning to punch the latest in a series of nameless bad guys right in the face.  “It’s a lot easier to put people down when you don’t have to get up close and personal with them.”“I’ll get up close and personal with you,” Clint assured him, breathless as he once again released an arrow.  In the distance there was an explosion.“There’s a no flirting rule on the comms,” Tony butted in, soaring over all of them with a blast of repulsors that could only have been purposeful.  “Cap said, ‘no flirting, propositioning, or otherwise inappropriate behavior on official communications’.  He put it in writing and everything.”“I never saw that,” James grunted, bending to avoid a punch and simultaneously uppercutting his assailant.“And I can’t read,” Clint chimed in.“Can we focus?” Steve demanded, and then grunted like the wind had been punched out of him.“Aaaaand that’s Cap taking a bullet to the thigh, for those who like to keep count of such things,” Clint said nonchalantly.Or: Clint and James join the Avengers.  It's not exactly a smooth ride.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Series: Fingertips Against My Skin [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1632118
Comments: 80
Kudos: 740
Collections: MHEA Harlequin Hoopla Prompt Challenge 2020, Mandatory Fun Day, Winterhawk Bingo





	This Feels Right

**Author's Note:**

  * For [drgirlfriend](https://archiveofourown.org/users/drgirlfriend/gifts).



> Sequel to "Gold On Your Fingertips"
> 
> For Dr.G, because the sequel to her fic should also be for her but ALSO because she is a singularly delightful human being who deserves a load of nice things. 
> 
> Also this is for the Marvel HEA Hoopla soulmates from 2/2 of their Super Romance lineup, and it fits my Romantic Sex square of Winterhawk Bingo AND it works for Sam Wilson Appreciation Week over on Mandatory Funday **I am _winning_ at life!**
> 
> ETA: Drgrlfriend made me a header, because we are trapped in a delightful constant reciprocity of gifts and I am LOVING it, check this out!  
>   
> 

Adjusting to being Avengers after their surrender was… difficult. 

To put it mildly. 

Clint was absolutely unaccustomed to being involved in anything like planning, to say nothing of James, who was much more used to being pointed in a general direction and told whom to kill. Instead, they’d been - well, once they’d been vetted and watched and poked and prodded, and then had _Tony Stark_ thrown at them babbling about weapons upgrades and wanting to have a look at James’ arm - invited to the table as though they were equals, asked their opinion on any number of things, and then trusted on the ground.

Well, mostly trusted. Clint had a habit of throwing himself headfirst into whatever situation, regardless of whatever plan had been made, and James was notorious for abandoning whatever assignment he’d been given to make sure the idiot was holding his own. So now Captain America - _Steve Rogers_ \- mostly assigned them to cover each other, and that seemed to be working out.

It took James an embarrassing amount of time to realize the Clint had suggested they surrender solely for James’ benefit, and nearly zero for his own. Clint could have been slapped with attempted larceny, at best, for his involvement in the theft of whatever fake superserum had been laid out to trap the Winter Soldier. He could have mostly walked away from it, with his juvenile record already sealed, and nothing notable on his adult one, and gone about his life if he’d wanted to. James, on the other hand, as a notorious assassin under the thumb of an even more notorious terrorist organization - well. His options had been much more limited. So Clint turned himself in, refused to be separated from his soulmate, and tried his best to fit in with a team of enhanced super soldiers, super spies, ex-military, and one genius billionaire playboy philanthropist. 

Tried and mostly failed, though not because the team didn’t want him there. Mainly because he couldn’t find any sort of common ground with any of them, though he seemed to get along best with - surprisingly - the Black Widow, who seemed to neither want nor expect much of him. She trained Clint, took his acrobatic flexibility and his deadly accuracy, and pushed him that much further. Clint was flourishing in that one arena, and no other. No matter what attempts were made to fold Clint and James into the group of them they never seemed to hold up. There were game nights and team dinners and training exercises, all designed to set Clint and James at ease, to make them feel _welcome_. 

James didn’t trust it one bit, and neither did Clint. 

Steve Rogers tried too fucking hard, pushing at James to remember things he didn’t want to dwell on, as his most recent memories were bathed in blood and obedience, and anything earlier than that _hurt_ to think about, like Hydra had done its best to make him not want to remember. Which was probably the case, in all honesty, but it didn’t stop Rogers pushing at every opportunity, or James getting snippy about it. It put Clint on edge too, made him more likely to disobey a direct order, or undermine Rogers in some other way, which wasn’t good for team dynamics. 

A team that was, to all appearances, trying to enfold James and Clint into it like some kind of fucked-up superhero family, between breakfasts made by Bruce Banner, or movie nights that Sam Wilson organized.

Clint wasn’t having it at all. James was wary, but he didn’t feel like there was any ill-intent behind it, other than Rogers wanting to rekindle a relationship that was seventy years in the tearing down. He just couldn’t allow himself the kind of vulnerability that being close to a team required. Clint was different, because James could literally feel Clint’s intentions, his feelings and emotions, but James couldn’t trust anyone else’s motivations, not after what he’d been though.

Clint, though. After his brother’s betrayal, Clint wanted nothing to do with any of it. He scoffed at the team-building, and the efforts to bond, and the offers of friendship, hiding behind a mask of flippant indifference that infuriated Stark and left everyone else bewildered. He preferred to hole up in the suite of rooms they’d been given in Avenger’s Tower when they weren’t training or on a mission, curled up against James’ skin where he felt safe.

Which was where they were now. Clint was sprawled on top of him, both of them shirtless, watching _Dog Cops_ with the captions on and his hearing aids out, practically purring as James ran gentle fingertips up and down his spine. James didn’t care anything about the show, but Clint loved it, loved anything to do with dogs, really, and James was going to sneak a puppy in for him sometime soon, regardless of what Tony or his all-seeing AI thought about it. Clint was lax in his arms, perfectly comfortable and drowsy, though the slow tendrils of desire were starting to coil around the other emotions in a way that James was intimately familiar with. 

“Pardon the interruption,” JARVIS, the Stark-designed AI system that ran the tower and made both Clint and James jittery and paranoid for reasons exactly like this one, broke the comfortable silence of the room, and James flinched. 

Clint raised his head to look at James, then glanced up at the ceiling and grimaced. James rolled his eyes. Clint reached for the hearing aids he’d dropped on the table but James coaxed him back down instead. No reason for both of them to have to deal with whatever it was, especially because Clint found JARVIS particularly unsettling. He said it felt like being in juvenile detention again, where he was constantly being watched. 

James was used to that, so it didn’t bother him as much. At least the computer was unfailingly polite, and never doused him in cold water or gave him electric shocks. 

“Yes JARVIS?” James said, and if he sounded put-out and annoyed, the AI’s designer had only himself to blame. He could feel the tension in Clint, thrumming anxiety that was now drowning out his earlier peaceful contentment, and James resented that even more than the intrusion. 

“Sir has asked me to inform the two of you that there will be a group dinner tonight, if you’d like to join, and he’s happy to provide Agent Barton-” and that was another thing Clint didn’t like, that he’d been enfolded into S.H.I.E.L.D. with Natasha Romanov, a federal agent now, whether he liked it or didn’t- “with the pizza of his choice.”

A blatant attempt at bribery. 

James sighed. 

It would probably work.

He nudged Clint up, and Clint straddled his lap, looking down on him expectantly. James almost suggested they take their activities elsewhere rather than go down to dinner, but he dutifully relayed the message from JARVIS in rapid ASL. They’d learned quickly that no-one else on the team signed, and it was the closest thing to a private conversation they could have in a roomful of people they didn’t quite trust. 

“And beer,” JARVIS helpfully added, proving James’ long-held suspicion that the AI, at least, knew what they were saying. He scowled. 

“Fine,” Clint said, loud and kinda toneless, the way he always sounded when he didn’t have his hearing aids in. “We’re in, I guess.”

“Thank you Sergeant Barnes,” JARVIS added, and James was never sure if the AI was being polite or sassy.

“Not a Sergeant anymore,” James reminded him.

“Apologies, sir,” JARVIS said, and then went mercifully silent. 

“You think we can squeeze in a quickie before dinner?” Clint asked cheerfully enough, but when Bucky slid a hand from his hip to the bare skin of his waist, he could feel a maelstrom of other emotions.

“Whatever you want,” James told him, pulling him back down to bring their mouths together. “They can wait on us,” he mumbled against Clint’s lips, making him laugh. 

One of the best things James had discovered about himself, post-Hydra, was his ability to make Clint laugh.

**

Dinner wasn’t as stilted as usual. Wilson was back from whatever mission he’d been on for the last week, which meant he was mostly able to rein Rogers in, facilitating conversation and redirecting anything that hit too close to home for James. He’d been gone when they’d first let Clint and James out of confinement and Rogers had been almost unbearable, halfway to insisting he knew what was best for James in any given situation. It had driven Clint mad, and made James uncomfortable enough that he’d suggested to Clint - in the dark of night in their room, which was as close to privacy as they ever managed - that they could probably escape, go on the run again.

Sometimes James thought Clint regretted saying no. 

Tonight, though, was okay. 

Clint was devouring pizza - Stark had got him a large pie complete with the pineapple he _insisted_ was perfectly acceptable on pizza, much to James’ disgust - and nursing a second beer and looked almost relaxed. Even Romanov had unwound a bit, a smile playing on her lips around the mouth of her own beer bottle as Wilson told the story of his most recent exploits. AIM had apparently been working on new tech, some kind of gun that was meant to be armor piercing or lasers or something, except half the time the things exploded in their hands, which had only made his job easier. 

James had his ankle wrapped around Clint’s under the edge of the table. They weren’t skin-to-skin, but it was enough to be grounding, enough that James was able to feel at ease despite being surrounded by a group of people he only barely trusted in the field but couldn’t bring himself to be close to off of it. Clint knocked their knees together occasionally, in between stuffing slices of folded up New York style pizza in his mouth as though he hadn’t had a solid meal in a month. That was just Clint and pizza; the only thing James had any competition with was Clint with a slice in each hand. 

It was fine right up until Rogers opened his fucking mouth and sent the whole thing spiralling straight to hell. 

“Pizza’s changed a lot, huh Buck?” was all he said, but it was enough to send James’ shoulders tight, to make him tense up. It was probably the nickname more than anything - everyone else had respected James’ desire to be James or, if necessary, Barnes, but Rogers stubbornly insisted on Bucky at every interaction. 

“Wouldn’t know,” James said, forcing the words to sound casual as his knee jittered against Clint’s where it couldn’t be seen. “The worst pizza I can remember was in a two-bit motel in the middle of nowhere South Dakota, but I dunno if that was the pizza or the Hydra fucks who showed up to ruin my dinner.”

Rogers opened his mouth again, and Clint slammed his bottle of beer on the top of the table, forcefully enough that James flinched, worried it might break, but thankfully didn’t. He reached out and wrapped his right hand around Clint’s wrist where he could feel the muscles and tendons tight under his fingertips around the neck of the bottle. James dragged his thumb over Clint’s pulse point and tried to project all the calm he didn’t feel through their bond, shoving down the frustration and whatever else Rogers’ words dredged up in him.

 _It’s fine_ , he signed, when Clint turned to look at him, banked fury in his gaze. He felt hot with rage under James’ fingertips. Clint didn’t yank his hand out of James grip - he would never, ever do that, would never reject his touch, James knew that - but he twisted in a way that meant he wanted free, and James released his arm. 

_It’s not fine_ , he signed back, his arms jerking with the motions. _It’s bullshit!_ While no one at the table spoke sign, the particular combination of hand motions for bullshit was fairly obvious, bullhorns on one end and and explosive motion at the other that could only mean one thing, and Romanov snorted into her beer bottle. 

_It’s fine_ , James signed again, keeping his motions calm and smooth. It wouldn’t help the situation at all if he got mad too. That would only wind Clint up. 

Clint snorted, and pushed back from the table. “I’m goin’ to bed,” he muttered, leaving a half-eaten slice of pizza and what was left of his beer as he stalked out of the room. 

James debated following him. They were a team, the two of them, but…

If Clint didn’t want to leave the Tower, and they didn’t want to spend the rest of their lives running, something had to give. James dragged Clint’s plate over and began picking off the pineapple chunks, wrinkling his nose as he did so. 

Wilson sighed heavily. “We’ve talked about this, Steve,” he muttered. “God you guys are bad at this.” 

James wasn’t sure he’d been meant to hear that, so he chose to ignore it. They’d run him through a gamut of testing when he’d agreed to join the team, but even then he’d held back, made himself _less than_ Captain America, though he was fairly certain they were about even in an all-out competition of strength and pretty positive he could take Rogers in a fight simply because he had more combat experience and was willing to fight dirty. So the rest of the Avengers didn’t know just how enhanced his sense really were, and he intended to keep it that way.

Rogers got a mutinous look on his face, one that James caught a glimpse of over the table, jaw clenched as he glared at the table top, and James got a whiff of the past, a weird murky overlay that was the same expression on a slimmer, paler face. He rubbed at the bridge of his nose as pain shot through his skull at the recollection, but bit back the noise he wanted to make, something low and distressed. He’d had enough of that lately. He supposed he should pull Rogers aside, maybe explain to him, but it would reveal a weakness he wasn’t quite ready to disclose. 

Rogers shoved back from the table and moved to follow Clint out the door.

“Don’t,” Wilson started, reaching for Rogers’ wrist, but Rogers shook him off, stalking out. 

Clint hadn’t quite made it to the elevators - James could hear his solid footsteps, and the ding of the elevator request, but he suspected JARVIS was slowing it down on purpose. He moved to stand up, but Romanov gave him the slightest shake of her head, winking at him. James cocked his head at her, and she tapped the glass of her bottle three times in slow succession, and James decided that, just this once, he’d trust her.

She was the only one Clint seemed to have any kind of relationship with, after all. 

Rogers caught Clint at the elevator bank, far enough from the dining room that James suspected the others couldn’t hear more than the whisper of voices overlapping, but he could hear every word.

“Clint,” Rogers called, and when Clint didn’t move, or at least didn’t move in any way that James could discern just from hearing, he barked out “Barton!” like that was going to make Clint any more inclined to listen to him. 

“Look,” Rogers said, and James caught the squeak of sneakers on the polished floors as Clint, presumably, turned to look at him. “I’m sorry.”

The apology must have caught Clint off guard, because he didn’t say anything, just took in a sharp breath. James tried to focus on the pizza on his plate, tried to ignore the questioning glances of the other people at the table as they looked between him and the door both Rogers and Clint had disappeared through, as he thoroughly searched the pizza he had for any bits of pineapple he might have missed. 

“You’re _sorry_?” Clint finally spat, disbelief warring with frustration in his voice. James wished he could touch him.

“Yeah,” Rogers said. “I’m sorry. I’m not- I’m not trying to _take_ him from you. I know you guys are soulmates, I just-” He sighed, and it sounded weary and, well, sad. “I just want my friend back.”

Clint let out a laugh that sounded strangled. “You think I- you’re a fuckin’ moron you know that? I didn’t think you were tryin’ to take him from me, you asshole. You can’t take him from me, he doesn’t _belong_ to me. He’s my soulmate - we’re… it’s not something you can _take_. It’s something we share.” There was a beat of silence and James could imagine Clint waving his hands in that way he did, like he was brushing the words out of the air. “I’m not mad about that anyway, I’m mad because you’re bein’ an _asshole_ about it.”

Rogers sputtered something, but Clint cut him off. He’d been itching to have this confrontation for a while now, and nothing Rogers said or did was gonna put him off. James could feel a little smirk curving the edges of his mouth, and he bit his lip to keep it contained. 

“ _I’m_ being an asshole?” Rogers said, disbelief evident in his voice.

“Yeah. Yeah, you fuckin’ are,” Clint told him. There was the sound of flesh on cloth, and James wondered what Clint had done. “You think this is easy for him? It’s fuckin’ _not_. You’re all ‘good ole days this’ and ‘hey Buck remember that’ and guess what, shithead, he doesn’t remember it, because Hydra took it from him. And not only does he _not_ remember it, but when he does, it _hurts_. They took it and then they made it awful to get back, and you’re _hurting him_ instead of just _being his fuckin’ friend_. You can’t have the old Bucky Barnes back,” Clint said, bitterness coating his words. “Bucky Barnes is gone. James Barnes is sitting at your dinner table, and he’d probably be your friend if you’d quit wishin’ he was someone else.”

James wasn’t entirely sure that was true - wasn’t sure he knew how to be anyone’s friend, much less friends with the man who remembered more about James than he remembered about himself. But it would be nice without the weight of those expectations, it would be _easier_ to consider a friendship if Rogers would back off a little bit. Mostly, though, James was more relieved than anything, that Clint was putting voice to the words that James couldn’t say.

The elevator, mercifully, dinged, and James could hear the squeak of Clint’s sneakers, heavy under his large frame, as he walked onto the polished marble of the car. “Try just bein’ his goddamn friend, Rogers,” Clint said, like he hadn’t already had the final word, and then the doors closed with a displacement of air that James couldn’t really hear so much as he could kind of feel it. 

Rogers stood there for a long moment after, probably looking shell-shocked and feeling twice as confused as he started out. 

James finished Clint’s pizza and beer. 

Romanov met his gaze across the table with a little smirk, and he wondered how much of it she’d heard. 

“Well, this has been _swell_ ,” James said, only a little of the sarcasm he was feeling dripping over into the words. “Let me know the next time there’s a team bonding night, I’ll arrange some kinda Hydra incursion as a distraction.” He could go out and spend some of that cash he still had sequestered in that backpack in his and Clint’s closet. Stark had given it back to them like nearly half a million dollars in cash was _nothing_ , and maybe to him it was, but James knew if he took it off somewhere and spent a wad of it, Hydra would probably turn up.

It might feel good to punch those fucks in the face.

Probably not as good as Clint felt right now though. James felt that traitorous smile creeping up on his face again, and ruthlessly shoved it back down. He was heading upstairs, where Clint was probably furiously putting holes in Stark’s walls with his bow, pacing and pissed off, and James knew just how to deal with that. 

**

Surprisingly, things got better after that. Rogers stopped being such a pushy piece of shit, and James and Clint finally graduated to calling him Steve, and the others by their first names as well. James even managed to stop strapping hidden weapons to his person anytime they went down for group events. Other than when they were on a mission, of course. 

Which they currently were. 

“Cap, you have eyes on Nat?” came Clint’s voice on the comms, sounding calm in a way he never did off the field, like he could see everything at once and calculate it faster than the rest of them. 

Frankly, he did. 

Whatever tutelage Natasha had provided him with, Clint had capitalized on it, and now he was often their eyes in the sky, finding the high ground and picking off enemies and calling for reinforcements with ease. 

“She’s under the blue bus with the fucking horrible photo of Guiliani on it,” Steve came back, sounding slightly breathless. 

“Two bogeys converging on her location,” Clint said, then there was a pause and a _twang_. “Well, there were,” he added, and James could _hear_ the smile in his voice. 

“Show-off,” James muttered, turning to punch the latest in a series of nameless bad guys right in the face. “It’s a lot easier to put people down when you don’t have to get up close and personal with them.”

“I’ll get up close and personal with _you_ ,” Clint assured him, breathless as he once again released an arrow. In the distance there was an explosion.

“There’s a no flirting rule on the comms,” Tony butted in, soaring over all of them with a blast of repulsors that could only have been purposeful. “Cap said, ‘no flirting, propositioning, or otherwise inappropriate behavior on official communications’. He put it in writing and everything.”

“I never saw that,” James grunted, bending to avoid a punch and simultaneously uppercutting his assailant.

“And I can’t read,” Clint chimed in. 

“Can we focus?” Steve demanded, and then grunted like the wind had been punched out of him.

“Aaaaand that’s Cap taking a bullet to the thigh, for those who like to keep count of such things,” Clint said nonchalantly. 

“I’m on it,” James said, elbowing his remaining opponent in the face and jogging off in the direction of the upturned bus he could see. Steve was kneeling on the ground behind the shield, actually using it to shield himself for once. He was gearing up to throw it as Bucky came around the edge of the bus, firing on the small group of guys who thought they could capitalize on a gunshot wound to a supersoldier.

“Stay down you fuckin’ mook,” James growled, as most of them fell under his barrage of bullets. “Jesus, just give it two goddamn minutes to heal up, it looks like a graze.” Blood was dripping from Steve’s thigh to the ground, but the tear in his suit was minimal, and the blood was already slowing. 

“Told you if someone wanted Cap’s DNA they could just scrape it off the sidewalk after a battle,” Clint said smugly, as two arrows suddenly appeared, bristling between the shoulders of the one guy James couldn’t shoot from his vantage point.

Natasha snorted into the comms as Steve made a squawking sound that was probably denial.

“Birdbrain has a point,” Tony said thoughtfully, as he landed in the middle of the debris surrounding James and Steve. Sam swooped in a moment later and deposited Clint beside him, who looked a little green from the sudden change in position. He hadn’t quite got used to being carted around by flying members of the team, though he tried to take it like a champ. 

“Think that’s everyone,” Tony added, flipping his faceplate up. There was faint groaning from most of the men on the ground, because James was learning to take nonlethal shots, as much as he disliked it. Apparently not leaving anyone alive wasn’t good for the Avengers’ reputations. James didn’t put his gun away, but Clint had already slung his bow over his shoulder and was sauntering towards James with a look in his eyes that James knew without even having to touch him. His own probably matched - Tony had worked up a whole suit for Clint, with body armor that James appreciated, and bare biceps that he _definitely_ appreciated, mostly black with purple accents. He and Clint had got together on the quiver Clint had been working on, tweaking it until it functioned perfectly, and coming up with increasingly inane ‘specialty’ arrows - most of which were Clint’s ideas. The newest one was a boomerang arrow, which James found baffling.

“It comes back!” Clint had told him, looking delighted.

“Yeah, but how are you gonna _catch_ it?” James had asked, prompting a look of consternation.

It was still a work in progress. 

“I think making eyes at each other counts as flirting through official communication channels,” Tony said, as Clint finally made his way to James and moved to tuck himself up under his arm, like the idiot even fit. “And now it’s definitely fraternization. Cap they’re fraternizing!”

Steve rolled his eyes as he pushed himself to his feet. “Leave them alone, Tony,” he grumbled, prompting Clint to give him a disbelieving look. 

“Let’s go home,” Clint suggested, giving James a once-over that spoke volumes. “I gotta give you a thorough check for injuries.”

“You’re the one who fell off a roof last week. Maybe I should check _you_ over.”

“Jesus christ,” Sam muttered. “Who let these jokers join the team?”

“Me,” Natasha told him, sauntering up as she tucked away her pistols. Sam waved his hands in the universal gesture of surrender, because apparently arguing with Nat was his limit. “Anyone still standing here in thirty seconds is either going to medical or on press duty,” she added, turning a fierce gaze on Steve.

He tried to jog away, only to have his leg give way underneath him just enough to slow him down. 

She tutted. “Guess that’s one for medical.”

When she turned back, James had already yanked Clint behind the bus and was easing them down a nearby alley, into a blind spot. “Fuck you and this fucking uniform,” James breathed, tucking his nose up behind Clint’s ear where he smelled of sweat and explosions and something that was just _Clint_. He trailed his mouth over Clint’s throat, felt Clint shiver underneath him.

“If you insist,” Clint retorted, but he sounded breathy and fucked out already, the same way he always did after a successful mission, all that energy pent up and nowhere to go.

“We can still hear you,” came Tony’s tinny voice in both their ears. 

“Bully for you,” Clint said, but he worked a hand between James’ face and his ear and flipped the switch on his hearing aid that disabled the comm feature. He didn’t bother with that level of finesse for James, just pulled the device hooked over James’ ear out and shoved it in the pocket of James’ tac pants. That done, he wrapped one arm around James’ shoulders and the other around his waist, hitching his hips up hopefully. 

“Well, Mr. Winter Soldier sir, are you gonna check me over for injuries, or are you all talk?”

James wrapped a hand around Clint’s thigh and pulled it up over his hip, grinding his pelvis into Clint’s and making him groan. “I’m pretty sure you’re the one who’s talk and I’m the one who’s action.”

“I’ll show you action,” Clint grumbled, pulling James’ mouth up to meet his, the rush of lust and need and post-fight adrenaline drowning out most of the rest of the world. James could kiss Clint for hours, slow-fast-slow, until his mouth was swollen and he’d lost all ability to speak. Clint had told him once he hadn’t expected James to be much for kissing, and James had taken it almost as a challenge, determined to kiss Clint often and enthusiastically, and if that usually ended with them naked, well, so much the better.

But they couldn’t get naked here.

James eased back regretfully. Clint looked dazed, staring at James like he was staring at the sun. 

“If we don’t get out of here, Nat is gonna make us do press shit,” Clint said, breathless, after James had stared back at him long enough that he’d started fidgeting uncomfortably. 

“You like the press shit,” James told him, because Clint _did_ , now that the team had settled into something more like sibling squabbles than true animosity. Clint had been a performer, after all, and he looked good in front of the camera - midwestern and wholesome, with an _aw shucks_ grin that went over better than Steve’s stone-faced recounting of events. The press and public loved him, the only non-enhanced, no-special-training, regular guy on the team. It helped that S.H.I.E.L.D. had expunged his record, and that his brother and the circus had been picked up by the authorities on unrelated charges while Clint and James were still in detainment, so there’d been no fallout over his past. 

“Yeah,” Clint admitted, squirming under James’ hands, “but I like going back to the Tower with you more.” He reeled James back in for a kiss that was less adrenaline-fueled and more tender, reaching to cup James’ face in his hands. He broke it off after a few seconds, a smile curling softly against James’ mouth. “Let’s go home, yeah?” he said, tipping his forehead against James’, so that James had to close his eyes and just feel the swirl of emotions underneath the request - lust, sure, but other, gentler feelings as well. 

James didn’t understand the way Clint touched him sometimes, for all that he could pick up on all the intentions behind it. He was a killer with enough blood on his hands that he would never be free of it, never be able to make amends, but Clint always touched him with a kind of reverence that bordered on awe, as though James were something special and precious. 

He couldn’t help but tip into that touch now, into the hands still gently cradling his face, as the last of the adrenaline from the fight settled out into the pit of his stomach in a pool of warmth that was something else entirely. “Okay,” he breathed, detangling his body from Clint’s but unable to pull away entirely, wrapping his hand around Clint’s so that the connection between them hummed with contentment. 

They probably should have caught a cab back, or waited for the others, rather than hoofing it all the way back on foot in full uniform, but they passed mostly unmolested. There were a few cellphone pictures, sure, but no one stopped them, and their splash as the newest members of the team had long since worn off. It probably helped that James murder-glared his way down the sidewalk, not that he was willing to admit that out loud.

Even with the walk, the Tower was still devoid of other Avengers when they got back, which was frankly just how James liked it, and JARVIS was blessedly silent on the elevator ride up, despite Clint maneuvering James against the back wall and pressing him into it, wedging a thigh between his legs and dipping his head to nibble at the exposed skin above James’ collar. Tony had reworked his uniform too, dumping the ‘bondage gear fetish exhibit’ James had been wearing while with Hydra in favor of a sleeker, navy-colored body armor that left his metal arm exposed, which Clint had developed a healthy appreciation for, especially as it didn’t have nearly as many buckles to fumble with. 

Clint unsnapped the collar so he could get at more of James’ skin, and James tipped his head back with a low groan, giving him as much access as he could manage. His fingers were already working at the snaps along the side of the jacket, unhooking them deftly as he left fleeting marks at James’ throat. Clint made a disappointed noise when he worked his fingers under the heavy kevlar to find that James was wearing something underneath.

“The kevlar chafes,” James told him with amusement, though his voice was roughened by arousal and he was breathing heavily. 

Clint managed to get his fingers under the tight, sweat-wicking fabric of the shirt, brushing lightly across James’ abs and making him suck in a sharp breath, when the elevator dinged their arrival. They stumbled out, still tangled up in each other, still kissing, Clint still groping at whatever bits of skin he could reach. It was distracting, to say the least, James tripping over his own feet and Clint’s too as they made their way to the bedroom. 

“Shower,” he mumbled against Clint’s mouth, forcing himself to pull away and strip the jacket and shirt off in hurried motions. “You smell like destruction,” he added, grinning at Clint’s disgruntlement. 

“Well you smell like _eau de battered villain_ , but I wasn’t gonna complain,” he grumbled as he unzipped his own suit. It came off all in one piece but got tangled up around Clint’s boots until he had to sit on the floor to finish removing it, making James snigger. 

The shower in their rooms was decadent, one of the few things Clint had never once grumbled about, big enough to fit both of them with room to spare and the hot water never ran out. James coaxed him in with a hand around his wrist and another on his ass until they were both standing under the hot spray, still kissing and kissing and kissing, only pulling apart long enough to soap each other up and crash back together again, reluctant to part.

“Bed,” Clint finally sighed, even though James had him backed against the now-warm tiles, and was tracing aimless patterns along clean skin with his tongue. “Bed, bed, bed. I want to take you to bed.”

James could feel the soft intent behind the words, a nameless desire of Clint’s, something he wanted to do or wanted to have, so James backed away, hastily drying off and allowing himself to be shuffled into the bedroom and onto the messy bed, despite his wet hair and the chill in the air. 

Clint climbed over him, straddling his legs, and settled in, looking James over with satisfaction. He was tousled, despite having just showered, and there were drops of water clinging to his shoulders and chest that James wanted to _lick_. He hefted himself up on his elbows to chase a particularly large droplet down Clint’s collar to his nipple, sucking it between his teeth and biting down just to the edge of pain, making Clint gasp. But James could tell he liked it, and he wrapped his metal hand around Clint’s hip and squeezed, knowing that would ratchet his arousal up that much higher. It did, providing James with a perfect feedback loop of pleasure, because making Clint feel good made _him_ feel good. 

Casual contact always gave him a thrill, let James know the surface of what Clint was feeling, the shifts in his mood like the tides of the oceans, if he felt sad or lonely or irritable. Reassured him that he was giving Clint what he wanted and needed in a partner.

Being completely naked, _having sex_ , was a conduit so much deeper than casual touch. James could almost anticipate what Clint was going to want, going to _need_ , could feel the deeper emotions, even the dark ones he tried his best to hide, but especially the gentle care and absolute wonder he felt when he touched James. 

And it gave Clint the same, allowed him to give James the things he wanted even when he couldn’t voice them. 

“Fuck, that’s good,” Clint said, arching into the touch at his hip and closing his eyes briefly. When he opened them though, all his focus was on James, single-minded and determined, and he pushed James back onto the mattress gently.

He was always exquisitely, tortuously gentle. 

Clint liked things harder, when James was running the show. Liked to be held down and told - in low, filthy words - exactly what to do and how to do it, liked things a little rough, liked to hand control over to James. 

James-

James liked something entirely different. 

“Look at you,” Clint murmured, skating calloused hands over his skin and looking at James like he was something cherished. Someone deserving of care and praise and the absolute sense of wonderment he could feel in Clint’s touch, despite the fact James didn’t think he deserved it.

He liked Clint’s tender touches, the careful way he touched James. 

James wasn’t _fragile_. He’d probably never been anything like weak or easily broken, at least not physically, but he definitely hadn’t been those things under Hydra’s command. If anyone had touched him with care while he was theirs, he had no recollection of it. He couldn’t remember a single person who’d been anything better than clinical with him, and clinical had been the best possible outcome. 

Clint’s touch was anything but clinical. 

“You’re so gorgeous,” he said in that same low, intimate tone. He leaned over, following the path of his hands with his mouth, applying kisses James could only think of as _sweet_. When his lips ghosted over the scars of near his arm, James flinched - an involuntary movement that he tried to hide, but there was no hiding, not when they were like this. “Perfect,” Clint breathed onto his skin, pressing more kisses there, before scraping his teeth down James’ ribs and moving even lower. 

Stopping near James’ navel, Clint paused to look up and James lifted his head to meet his eyes. “I wanna make you feel good, baby, can I do that for you?”

James swallowed roughly. “Yeah,” he managed to grate out, like his entire body wasn’t singing _yes yes yes_ under Clint’s touch, like Clint couldn’t feel exactly how much, how badly James wanted this. 

The first touch of Clint’s mouth on his cock was so good that James cried out. No matter how often they did this, it was always so good, so _intimate_. The hot, wet suction, the way Clint knew just how to take him apart. The pleasure was only increased by the fact James could _feel_ that Clint was enjoying nearly as much as James himself, that he liked it, _loved_ it even, the fullness of James between his lips and the way James writhed under his touch. Clint’s hands roved all over his body as he sucked James down, down, down, calluses catching roughly on James’ skin, and fingertips pressing into the sensitive places against his hip bones. 

“Oh god,” James groaned, reaching to tangle his fingers in Clint’s hair. Clint hummed, shooting sparks like electricity up James’ spine. Clint kept his pace slow, leisurely, like he had all the time in the world to take James to pieces and was enjoying every minute of it. He slurped his way up and down James’ cock, the sounds wet and obscene in an otherwise silent room, until James’ thighs were trembling and his back was arched as he panted up at the ceiling. 

“Please,” he begged, and Clint slowly dragged his mouth up and off of James’ cock, pausing to swipe his tongue roughly over the head, before turning and pressing a kiss to James’ thigh. 

“What do you want babe?” Clint asked, his voice rough enough that it sent a shiver up James’ spine. 

Beyond words, James bent his knee and shifted his hips, pleading silently with his body. 

Clint clambered over him, pressing his naked body fully against James, startling another desperate gasp out of him as the sensation of it added fuel to the fire, pushing both their arousal even higher. Clint paused to kiss James’ mostly-slack mouth as he rummaged in the nightstand drawer, and then he dragged every inch of his body against James’ as he slithered back down. 

“Tease,” James grunted, lifting his head briefly to catch the smirk on Clint’s face before flopping back down at the first touch of his fingers. 

“It’s not a tease if I plan to follow through,” Clint assured him, pressing first one and then two fingers inside James. He peppered James’ thighs with kisses and tiny nips while he prepped him, his every touch still tender and considerate, never rushed, even when James could _tell_ how desperate he was. “Your thighs, Jesus,” Clint said lowly, so low James wasn’t sure he was meant to hear him, but he hooked his leg behind Clint’s shoulders and pulled him in close, trapped him just for a moment. Just long enough to feel Clint’s arousal spike and see his pupils dilate and his mouth go slack before releasing him. 

“One day,” Clint told him very seriously, “I want you to sit on my face and let me make you come that way.” He slipped a third finger in as he said the words, James involuntarily tightening around them at the thrill the words caused, the sharp stab of pure, unadulterated _want_ that curled in his belly. He wasn’t even sure at this point if it was his or Clint’s but it made him groan loudly. 

Clint grazed over his prostate teasingly, forcing another, less sensible noise out of James, and James could feel the smug mixed up with the lust and the tenderness and the warm sense of belonging that swirled between them. 

“Get in me,” James choked out, desperate. 

Pressing a final kiss to the thin, sensitive skin near James’ knee, Clint finally relented, easing his fingers out of James and crawling back over him. “I’ve got you,” he said, brushing the hair out of James’ face fondly and then easing his arm under James’ neck for balance. 

James hooked his leg over Clint’s hip as Clint reached for his cock, lining himself up to press inside, slowly, so slowly, as careful as he always was. 

“Oh fuck,” Clint choked out as he bottomed out, pressing his forehead to James shoulder and panting against his skin. “You feel so good,” he moaned, rubbing his face against James’ skin like he couldn’t believe it. James turned his head enough to press a kiss to Clint’s temple. 

Wrapped up like this, it was impossible to tell where either of them began or ended. Their bodies were so entwined, and their feelings, and possibly their _souls_ that it all bled together into _need heat want_ , just a mingled sense of _them_ and _rightness_ so fantastic that sometimes James couldn’t believe they ever got out of bed. James pulled Clint in with the leg wrapped around his waist, and Clint shifted in response, and they fell into a rhythm that didn’t require any words between them at all because they were so in tune with one another. 

Clint panted in his ear, rolling his hips into every shift of James’ body, making tiny, cut-off moans and babbling nonsense sounds. James could feel how close Clint was, how desperate to come and how good _he_ felt, tight and hot around Clint’s cock, could feel how determined Clint was to bring him off first, his focus and concentration unerringly fixated on James’ pleasure as he held on to his control by tenuous threads. James reached between them to fist his own cock, stripping it with jerky, uncoordinated movements as he strained towards the climax he could feel coiling tightly at the base of his spine as he hitched his hips to meet Clint's thrusts and gasped for air. 

When it hit, it took them both under, pleasure so acute it was nearly painful sweeping over them, seizing up in James’ chest so tightly that he couldn’t make a sound. It was euphoria and bliss, contentment and pride, all swirled up, some James’ and some Clint’s, dragging them both so thoroughly into white-hot relief that it was several minutes before James even felt like he could properly breathe again. 

“Holy fuck,” he croaked, still tangled up in Clint’s limbs with the other man slumped over his chest.

“Why do we ever get out of bed?” Clint asked, his own voice rough.

James shrugged.

Sure there were practical reasons, but at the moment he didn’t care about any of them. They were still physically as close as it was possible to be, skin humming with satisfaction and comfort.

After a while, though, they were forced to move, Clint slipping out of James with an uncomfortable squelch and James’ leg stiffening up from the awkward angle, until Clint slid to the side and curled up next to him, head on James’ shoulder. They were both sticky and gross and desperately in need of another shower, but James wasn’t in any hurry to move, not with Clint drawing absent patterns on his chest and the slow-simmering serenity between them. 

Eventually Clint started squirming, even though James was the one who was the grosser of the two, and something like anxiety leaked into the bond between them.

“What’s wrong?” James asked, because he might get the emotions, and in this situation maybe a bit more, but it wasn’t enough to tell him why Clint felt suddenly nervous. 

“Nothing’s… wrong,” Clint said, hesitantly, still drawing circles on James’ skin. “I just… had a thought.”

“Okay,” James said, involuntary grin tugging at the edges of his mouth, “do you want to share?”

“I just… was thinking…”

James hummed but waited him out. He could feel the determination rising to meet the anxiety. 

“Maybe we could go down and… do movie night?”

Tilting his head, James looked down at Clint in surprise. Clint didn’t look up, just watched his fingers dancing over James’ skin. 

“Like, we pick the movie and just hang out,” Clint added in a rush.

Clint didn’t initiate Avengers’ nights. Hell, until very recently he had barely _participated_ in team nights. James wasn’t any better, really, but the tentative ease with the others was relatively new, and even more surprising was that Clint was suggesting it _now_. 

Being this close, this intimate, with each other was like being flayed open. There were no defenses left after. James didn’t know if it was like that for all soulmate couples, or if it was something specific to the two of them, but afterwards they always felt exposed and vulnerable. It felt a bit like having a whole new skin - soft and tender and easily damaged. Showing that to the others - that was a big step. Normally they’d stay holed up in their rooms for a few hours or days, until things didn’t feel quite so raw. 

“Tonight?” James asked, just to make sure he understood. 

Something related to embarrassment welled up between them. “We don’t have to.”

James dragged his fingers up and down Clint’s bare shoulder as he considered. “If you want to,” he said, after a moment. “I trust you.”

Some complicated swirl of emotions swelled and then subsided, too many for James to really sort before they were gone again, and Clint pressed a kiss to his chest, slipping back into the easy peace. They lay there a bit longer just basking, before the itching sensation of sweat and other body fluids finally drove James back into the shower, Clint snickering in the bed as he curled up in the wrecked sheets. 

They dragged on soft, worn sweats and equally worn-out t-shirts, mostly leftovers from their time on the run when they’d been buying comfortably used clothing, and headed down to the common areas, bare feet and all. To James’ surprise, the comfortable relaxation went with them too, flowed between their tangled fingers so that James couldn’t get his defenses up and Clint didn’t get cagey, even when they exited the elevator and found the rest of the team sprawled out on various pieces of furniture and Chinese food steaming on the counter. 

“Hey!” Tony called, surprised. “It’s the dynamic duo! We weren’t expecting to see you.”

James shrugged self-consciously, and Clint reached up to scratch at the back of his neck with his free hand. 

“We thought maybe - movie?” Clint said, hesitant in a way he seldom was. 

Tony opened his mouth, but Natasha hip-checked him in the kitchen and he shut it with a snap. “Sure,” she said, practiced nonchalance in every move as she filled a plate without giving them a second glance. “You want to choose the film?”

Steve had popped his head over the back of the couch to look at them, curious shock morphing into something that looked uncomfortably like _pride_ , and James felt his shoulders start to hunch up around his ears. Clint squeezed his fingers reassuringly and James let out a breath and consciously released the tension. Steve opened his mouth to say something but flinched violently, and then Sam’s face appeared beside him, grinning. James figured he’d elbowed whatever Steve had been about to say right out of him, and James shot him a grateful look. 

“Bladerunner?” Clint asked, still a little tentative, but more sure of himself the more no one acted like this was a big deal. 

“The new one or the original?” Tony asked, rambling immediately. “I mean I have the old one but it’s from like before you were born and I’m sure we have the new- JARVIS can you get the Bladerunner with Ryan Gosling queued up?” 

James thought he was going to sprain something trying to act like there was nothing unusual about any of this, but he appreciated the effort. He let the amusement he felt drift across his fingertips to Clint, who turned to grin at him, private and a little shy. 

“Certainly, Sir,” JARVIS said, and James hadn’t known the AI was capable of humor, but he certainly sounded amused. 

Sam snorted, but he pried himself off the couch to come into the kitchen and hand Clint and James plates. They had to let go of each other to fill them up with food, but that was alright because Clint kept close, bumping his arm against James’ every so often to maintain that skin-on-skin contact that they both craved at the moment.

When everyone sprawled in the main room - Clint and James on a loveseat entirely too small for two men their size, but they made it work by tucking their feet in and sitting as close as humanly possible - and the lights dimmed for the start of the movie, James leaned over and pressed gentle lips against Clint’s jaw, just beneath his ear.

“I could get used to this,” Clint whispered, barely audible under the first preview.

“Me too,” James answered, bumping his forehead against Clint’s jaw companionably.

And he really could. 

**Author's Note:**

> Many many many thanks to Steph as always for beta reading and cheerleading, and making everything I do that much better, including my entire life. 
> 
> Also thank you to Nny and Amy who, bless them, had to help me talk out the sex scene. And the end. And probably the beginning, I cannot recall. Plot, I don't know her. But they are the best <3


End file.
